


Hawke & Co.

by Mythalenaste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythalenaste/pseuds/Mythalenaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern au for a prompt fill. Wild and crazy delinquent Hawke meets Anders in a Lowtown Laundromat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawke & Co.

Anders staggered into the 24 hour laundromat and squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, lugging bloodied linens from the clinic behind him in a large clear plastic garbage bag. Unfortunately, the clear plastic had been all his assistant had been able to procure, the corner store had been out of black plastic for reasons he’d rather not think too hard about. If it wasn’t two in the morning in Lowtown, he’d actually worry about how suspicious that looked. He dumped the first two bags on the dirty linoleum beside one of the only two functional washers, one of which he was surprised to see was full of someone else’s laundry, and went back out for the third. He was struggling back up the cracked concrete steps when a loud bang from inside the building had him rushing inside. Towards potential danger, of course, instead of away. Maybe one of the washer’s had exploded? He really wouldn’t put it past them…

“Andraste’s saggy tits-!” The female voice startled him, he’d thought he’d been alone in the building. He whirled towards the sound and was stunned that he’d been so single minded earlier he hadn’t noticed that there was a young woman wandering around the place in her underwear. She was a striking figure, snowy white hair up in a messy bun and covered in Chasind tattoos. She cast one cursory but wary glance over her shoulder and having deduced his threat level was minimal, continued her assault on an aging vending machine. The loud and distinctive sound of the metal striking concrete came again as she kicked the machine hard enough to send it rocking backwards to slam against the wall behind it, it’s precious cargo rattling behind scratched and dirtied glass.

Wonderful. The reason he came here so late at night was to avoid people...especially the kind of crazy people who came here at night. You’re one of those crazy people, Anders. He sighed and proceeded to load his clothes into the washer beside the occupied one, enduring the continued sounds of the woman abusing the vending machine with as much teeth gritted patience as he could muster. There another bang and a satisfying flurry of smaller thumps and a sound of delight that indicated her violence had finally borne fruit. Or rather, the armload of chocolate bars and bags of doritos she dumped unceremoniously on the table beside him.

“Hey.” She greeted him with a sly, crooked smile and Anders felt simultaneously annoyed and gratified by her regard.

She was pretty in the way that the glint off a shiv in a dark alley was pretty, sharp and bright in the sickly light. Her skin was pale and sapphire ink was dashed across her cheekbones in daring Chasind designs. The oversized white tank she was wearing hid little of her slim frame, her black bra visible through the thin fabric. A pair of shorts too small and tight fitting for decency clung to her shapely form, displayed to great effect as she bent over the metal table beside him and reached underneath it for something. She came back up with a six pack and in one fluid movement fished a single brown bottle from it’s mooring and popped it open against the scratched edge of the table, letting the bottle cap spin away across the floor and lifting the bottle to her lips to take a quick swig. She settled herself beside him without preamble, crossing her long legs crossed over one another as she leaned back and continued to publicly drink. Well, he wasn’t going to stop her. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone in Lowtown would care at this hour, anyway.

“Hello.” He answered noncommittally, pouring some detergent into the well and pressing the start button. An angry little red light flashed insistently at him, demanding more payment than he’d given. Anders sighed deeply and reached into his lint filled pockets, surprised when a hand clad in a fingerless glove gripped his shoulder and pushed him gently aside.

“Here. This one’ll fleece you if you aren’t careful.” Her accent was Ferelden, surprisingly cultured and not what he’d been expecting after her string of curses. She drew back one fist and slammed the button as hard as possible. With a reluctant sound of electronic consternation, the washer shuddered into compliance. She looked proudly on until she seemed to realise that the sheets now whizzing in happy circles were stained with blood. The horror he’d expecting was a far cry from the look of interested appraisal she shot him and he fumbled to come up with an excuse, nearly pouring detergent all over the floor as the bottle when slack in his hand.

“I run a free Clinic in Darktown,” He answered hurriedly, suddenly acutely aware of how strange it looked otherwise. “we don't have the money to buy new linens each time some of them get soiled.”

The woman made a face and shrugged, tearing into one of the chocolate bars with her teeth and taking a huge bite. Brilliant, now he was strange and disgusting. As if he could have expected any other conclusion from her after coming in here dressed in his holiest t-shirt plaid shirt and worn jeans, the stained pale suede of his over coat, scuffed boots...yes, he probably looked one step above homeless. Did the Clinic count as home? It certainly should, between the taxes and the expenses-

“-Hello? Are you in there? Would you like to share this with me or are you going to make a woman drink alone on a lonely sunday evening?” He glanced up, brushing at his tattered clothes nervously and unnecessarily and frowning at her. She shook the bottle experimentally in his direction, the alcohol within it sloshing back and forth musically in the ever present buzz of the cheap lighting and the steady rumble of the washing machines. Anders frowned and shook his head, pinching his temples.

“I can’t. Well, I don’t. I used to, but not anymore. Thanks, though.” He shot her a thin smile and she shrugged again, like a great bird of prey reordering it’s wings, setting the unopened bottle on the counter beside her anyway and taking another long draught from her’s.

“Suit yourself.” She sniffed indelicately, more of a snort of derision then the gentle sound of mock offense she had intended. Smooth, Blondie… Anders could hear Varric chiding him and he sighed and beckoned for her to hand it to him, noticing the girl’s small, fleeting smile of triumph as he relented. She slid the bottle towards him and he noticed with a start how incredibly blue her eyes were, a dark cerulean purity to her gaze.

“I’m Hawke.”

Hawke...he’d heard that name before...whispered amongst beggars and lowlives and guardsmen alike. Unless he was mistaken, he’d also heard something from the Mage Underground about a Hawke. Two, in fact. Siblings? She looked like she was the only one here at present...impatiently waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Ah. I’m...Anders. Just...Anders. I run a free Clinic in Darktown.”

“Yeah, you said that. I’m Hawke. Just Hawke.” She had fished a small, glittering blue vial out of her sock and was carefully unstoppering it and tipping it’s contents into her drink. Lyrium. Anders felt his heart skip with sudden terror. He pulled away slightly, edging towards the door.

“Just Hawke the Templar?” Trying to keep the repulsion from his voice was a pointless endeavour, one he was annoyed at himself for making when Hawke choked on her swallow of cider and burst out laughing. She was young to be a templar and poorly dressed for even undercover work, he reasoned logically but still, still one could never be too careful. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her as she nearly fell off the high table, gales of laughter making her clutch her stomach and break off into softer giggles as she struggled for air.

“What’s so funny?” He asked stiffly, tossing the bag of linens he’d been prepared to dash out with aside and trying to preserve some of his dignity. Hawke wiped at her eyes, tears of mirth leaking down her tattooed cheeks as she recovered.

“You are, Anders! Sorry, Leandra always says that I’ve got shit for manners.It’s just...you look at me and your first thought is ‘templar’? A templar alone in her skivvies in the middle of Lowtown at three am?” She tipped her head back and let out another delighted bark of laughter, taking a swig of her cider and rolling the neck of her bottle between thumb and forefinger.

“You...you could have been under cover…” He murmured, suddenly ashamed of his paranoia. It was just...rare to see anyone but a templar take lyrium. Hawke noticed his significant glance at the empty vial and scoffed, picking up the glass tube and flinging it at the wall to shatter it.

“Well, I’m not an undercover templar. I’m a smuggler with Athenril’s guild. Sometimes we find a little lyrium on the side.” She rolled her eyes and sighed, beckoning him back towards her. “Here, Scaredy Circle Mage, I’ll prove it. You smoke?”

“I’m not a circle mage...fine, I’m an ex-Circle mage. A Grey Warden. And I don’t smoke...that’s a disgusting habit.” Hawke made a face like she’d bitten into a lemon and a dismissive gesture like she was batting away a cloud of smoke.

“True. Well, this’d be cooler with a cigarette but since neither of us indulge-” Hawke made a smooth, familiar gesture and added an unnecessary snap of her fingers to finish it off with a theatrical flourish. A plume of orange gold fade flame surged around her fingers and wrist. “Voila. See? Not a templar-Hey!”

Hawke jerked her hand away even as he tried to throw a flannel from one of her clean hampers over it. An apostate! Just like him but doing magic in a public place with no look-outs and full of camera’s she was going to get caught and-Anders yelped and danced backwards as a tiny, fist sized fireball hit him in the chest. He cast her a furious look which she met with a smug smirk.

“Hands off, Healer. As if the camera’s in this place actually work. You Grey Warden types are never any fun. Besides, trying to kill my fire...I should ask you to return my friendship beer.” Hawke hopped off the table and bounced over to the washer, pulling out her wet clothes and dumping them in a basket. She picked it up and set it against one hip with practiced ease, dripping water across the cracked flooring. Anders watched her, sweeping a little soot and ash off his chest.

“I’m...I quit the Grey Wardens.” The hamper made a thick banging sound as Hawke plunked it down on the counter, water pooling around it’s base.

“Quit? I thought they were taint and death for life?” She was fishing a pair of jeans out of a hamper of dry clothes and squirming into them, shimmying the red denim up over her hips and zipping and buttoning them

“Haven’t worn the uniform or gone to the parties in some time.” That, at least, sounded vaguely suave and he was proud of himself for coming up with it. Hawke finished her drink and untucked her tank from her tight skinny jeans, smelling of cheap fabric softener and sweet cider as she met his eyes with a quizzical look.

“So you’re in hiding? From the templars and the wardens? Ugh, why don’t I ever meet anyone normal…”

“Excuse me? You’re the delinquent from a den of thieves.”

“What isn’t normal about that in this city? Besides, some of us were refugees fleeing the Blight and didn’t get the Kirkwall welcome wagon, thank you very much. I’m working off a debt to Athenril.” That...oh. That made him a bit of a jackass, in retrospect. Hawke didn’t seem too offended, though. Clearly, she was either used to or had made peace with being accused of lawlessness. Right now, she was wedging her foot into a knee high black boot, lacing it with practiced ease. “But, if you want to know what’ll really wow you: My mother is an Amell. I’m half Amell. I should be living in swank and style if my Uncle hadn’t pissed away the fortune on some get rich quick scheme that involved marketing Qunari cheeses-” Hopping sideways and struggling into her other boot, she plowed into him and he caught her before she fell, helping her catch her balance. “-thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t want any of your responsibilities to catch up to you.” She made air quotes around the word responsibilities and laced the second boot halfway up before folding down the leftover bit and yawning widely. It was strange to think that this young woman who stumbled around and drank cheap cider with a stranger at three am whilst doing laundry was the smuggling legend he’d heard about...the very person he’d been considering finding a way to contact to help him on his plot to jailbreak Karl. Anders breath caught in his throat as he watched Hawke gather her two hampers, the wet one still dripping water everywhere. “Well, the only working dryer’s broken so I’ll just be heading out-”

“Hey...uh, this might seem like an odd request, but if you need a job-”

“I’m no healer and I don’t do anything involving children or animals.”

“You...you’ll participate in all manner of illegal activities but animals and children are where you draw the line?”

“I’m allergic to dogs. Fine, that’s a lie. I’m Ferelden, if you’re allergic to dogs they kick you out. But both animals and kids run away and make noise and smell. Look-” Hawke set one of her hampers down and moved the case of cider over to him with a rough clinking of bottles, “-you can have these in honour of our time spent washing suspect laundry together. Enjoy that because three friendships ciders is a lot for a first date-” Hawke snatched a pen hanging from some yarn beside the laundromat maintenance clipboard and scratching a sequence of numbers onto a spare bit of cardboard. “-that’s my friends’ number. Varric’ll know how to reach me if you’ve got legitimate work. I’ve got to go because there’s an angry elf waiting for me in the rain-”

“But I know Varr-”

“Bye, Anders!” Then she was gone, breezing out the door and towards the large, battered pickup that had pulled up onto the curb outside. The downpour thundered against the glass, dampening the plume of exhaust from the car’s tailpipe as Hawke threw open the doors and shoved her laundry to the middle of the front seat, white fabric turned translucent in the rain sticking to her back as she hopped inside. The truck peeled away from the sidewalk, red brake lights fading into the distance as it turned the corner and was out of sight.


End file.
